


Motivation

by Castillon02



Series: Bond Women Loving Women [7]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Camille trying to be smooth, Extortion, F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7695325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castillon02/pseuds/Castillon02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yusef’s captors instruct Vesper to make a drop in Bolivia. Camille gets curious about why someone from the British treasury would walk into a known criminal hang-out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motivation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Vesper/Camille spot on the 007 Fest femslash prompt square.

Vesper got off the plane and the Bolivian heat seemed to seep into every pore. She started sweating instantly. _I’m doing this for him_ , she reminded herself, _to make sure he lives_. But she couldn’t help but resent the fact that her holiday was going to be spent smuggling money to terrorists and betraying her country instead of doing something actually relaxing. She was carrying enough tension to warrant a week of spa days.

She made sure to sling her briefcase casually over her chest, messenger bag style. Nope, definitely not carrying any funds that she’d found, horribly, in the middle of her foyer floor after she’d come home from work.

From the airport, she took three different taxis to reach the club they’d told her about and then checked the bag under the name ‘Linda Miles’ like the accompanying note had instructed.

“Let me see if there’s anything left for you,” the attendant said, a disgusting, knowing look in her eyes.

Vesper sat down in the grotty reception area and waited. She flipped through a Spanish magazine, simultaneously trying to look unconcerned and keep an eye on whoever passed through the room.   

“Nothing for you,” the attendant said when she returned. “Enjoy your holiday, Ms. Miles.”

Nothing. A weight dropped off of Vesper’s shoulders. Perhaps she would enjoy her three days in Bolivia.

She checked herself into a hotel, treated herself to a mani-pedi, slipped on an outfit she might actually survive the heat in, and then went in search of cautious-celebration booze.

She found the alcohol in a crowded bar, and as the liquor hummed through her bloodstream, she allowed herself to act like she might be the same as any of the anonymous tourists mingling with the local bolivianos. She had another drink, she made eye contact with a few attractive people, and she found herself dancing with a gorgeous woman.

Dark-haired, dark-skinned, and dark-eyed, she moved in Vesper’s space without actually touching her. The heat of her seemed to insinuate itself through the thin dress Vesper was wearing; this was a heat that Vesper didn’t mind. She forgot home, she forgot the club from earlier, and she forgot Yusef. She ran her hands down the woman’s bare shoulders and let herself be pulled closer.

She danced, she kissed, and when the woman asked if she’d like to go somewhere more private, she said yes.

“So responsive, querida,” the woman said, laughing a little as Vesper gasped under her hands. It had been so long since anyone had touched her. “I can’t believe I found you in that bar,” she continued.

Vesper shrugged against the sheets. “It’s a popular place,” she said.

“Still,” the woman said, “I’d think a woman like you would prefer a classier kind of place. What kind of clubs do you like to go to?”

Vesper froze. “What?” she asked.

“What kind of clubs do you like to go to?” the woman repeated. She was doing a good job, trying to sound innocent about it, but Vesper could see it in her eyes—she knew.

She knew what Vesper was.

Vesper got out of bed and began to dress mechanically, grateful that the woman only watched instead of clubbing her over the head.

“It’s all right, you know,” the woman said. “The English don’t trust us, so we don’t share with them. No one’s going to go to your boss. What did you drop off? Drugs? Money?”

“Go to hell,” Vesper said dully. She didn’t imagine that Yusef’s captors would care which government she squealed to. Oh, god, how could she have let herself be so stupid?

“Money, then,” the woman said, reading the answer on her face. Fucking spies.

Vesper narrowed her eyes. “And for you?” she asked. “It can’t be money driving you to work for the Bolivian secret service; the pay is shit and so is the sexism. I’d say you have a vendetta against someone. Whoever it is, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I have my own motivations.”

“But you don't have a vendetta,” the woman said. “So you’re protecting someone. I hope you never know what it is to have no one left to protect.”

Vesper couldn’t bear to look at the hollow expression on her face. She walked to the door and held it open. “You can see yourself out,” she said.

The woman scribbled a name and number on the hotel notepad next to the bed. “In case you change your mind,” she said, and sauntered out of the room.

 _Camille_ , the name next to the number read. It probably wasn’t even her real name. Vesper ripped the paper into little bits and threw it in the rubbish.

She spent the next two days holed up in her hotel room, going out only for meals, wishing she’d brought Yusef’s locket with her instead of tucking it into her jewelry box next to Yusef’s lock of hair.

She would start wearing the locket again when she got home, as a reminder of what her stakes were. She'd gone all in to keep Yusef alive, and she had to play every hand with care.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is welcome <3


End file.
